


Taint

by Nemrut



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Gen, Parahumans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-09 12:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12276114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemrut/pseuds/Nemrut
Summary: "Damn girl, that was intense!" Shadow Stalker sounded excited and I felt her hand slap my right shoulder strong enough to hurt. "Didn't think you had it in you. Hardcore!"One bad night changed Vista's life





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this last year, reworked it since then. Still not completely happy with, especially the fight at the end but hopefully it's better than before.
> 
> Happy to hear all kinds of feedback.
> 
> Big thanks to Jarik and Lecos, for their help and input and to Thinker6 for his thoughts and advice a year back.
> 
> Enjoy

“They didn’t have capes, dumbass!” hissed Claire and slammed her hands on the table, missing the red marker and the empty transparency lying in the middle of the two tables that we had pushed together for this group work activity.  
  
“No,” said the dumbass in question, Mark, not caring that his remark made Claire glare harder. She started to get red in the face out of anger, while Clark looked irritated, and frowned at the brown haired boy.  
  
“It’s not a matter of opinion,” he said each word slow and clear, as if he was speaking to a mentally challenged monkey, “Everyone knows that the first parahuman to appear was Scion in the 80s.”  
  
Of course, the snootiness and scorn the two were throwing at Mark weren’t bothering him at all. If words and dislike could have stopped him, Mark would have done so a long time ago.  
  
It wasn’t that he was above the opinions of others, he just didn’t seem to understand that people generally hated him. “What about all the legends? Old religions and myths and all that? Who’s to say Jesus wasn’t a Striker or Hercules a Brute? My brother says-“

“No one cares about your brother, Mark!” Claire snapped, now having lost whatever little patience she had, knowing that now that Mark had brought up his infamous older brother into the conversation, all reason had left. “Everyone knows he’s a-,”  
  
“So, speaking of which, we’re going with freedom from religious harassment, right?” I said, trying to change the course of this discussion to something a bit more productive than petty squabbles.  
  
Clark, shooting me a grateful look, took the lifeline, “Yes, absolutely,” he said and wrote it down on the checklist in front of him. “This brings our points to, uh, five. Economic chances, adventure, overpopulation back home, taking part in the Zeitgeist of colonization.”  
  
Here he shot Claire a look, who had been the one to introduce us to the new word that was bound to look impressive to Mr. Lipmann, even if none of us quite got what it meant. “And now freedom of religious persecution.”  
  
“Perhaps freedom to be capes in peace?” tried Mark again, unwilling to let his crazy idea go. His brother must have mentioned that on a whim but Mark accepted it as gospel. “How else would you explain the disappearance of the Roanoke colony? Probably an Indian cape.”  
  
“Oh my god, Mark, shut the fuck up!” screeched Claire, now drawing the attention of a frowning Mr. Lipmann who was rushing towards our table.  
  
Of course, the rest of the class was now watching with glee. Mark was getting in trouble all the time and it had gotten to the point where almost no one found it amusing anymore. By now, we all hated him for wasting everyone’s time. With his baggy clothes, short brown hair that he refused to comb and a face closer to ugly than normal he had never had much of a chance of being popular. Nothing was quite as bad as opening his stupid mouth though. A Claire meltdown, on the other hand, was rare and the class had to appreciate and savored it whenever it happened.  
  
This nastiness was one of the reasons I disliked school. Not as much as group-work, English, or those stupid assemblies but still, right up there.  
  
“Claire, be quiet!” he snapped, stopping right next to a table, glaring at the now scowling girl, who was unwilling to meet his eyes, looking down on the table.  
  
Lipmann looked like an accounted with his short black hair, khaki trousers, polo shirt and square glasses but his voice voice was loud enough that when he screamed next to you, your ears would ring for a bit. “What’s the problem here?”  
  
“It’s Mark, sir,” Clark said, “He’s been trolling us. He's just saying obvious non-sense to annoy us.”

Lipmann, more than a little familiar with Mark and his tendency to stick to whatever silly tidbit others told him with the passion of a fanatic, sighed. “Mark, we’ve talked about this,” he said, “You promised to do better.”  
  
“I’m doing better!” he protested, “I even looked it up on the Internet. Someone on PHO posted an essay about this.”  
  
“That thread was on the AH section, you moron!” crowed Yamato Tachibana, as always proudly wearing the jersey of the basketball team to show that he was a member despite his shortness, “As in, Alternative History.”  
  
“Yamato!” snapped Lipmann, glaring at the grinning kid who held up his hands in a mocking surrender before he tucked them back into the pockets of his jersey. He left it at that, turning his displeasure back to Mark, who was looking mortified.  
  
“I thought it meant American History,” he whispered, his face flushing a deep scarlet which let another wave of laughter ruffle through the class.  
  
Lipmann pursed his lips, looking annoyed that this had taken so much time and attention already, raised his voice. “This is enough. Everyone, back to work. Mark, please stick to the school books or websites with verified information sources in the future. It isn’t so bad right now, since the mistake was caught early enough, but it could bite you if you use unchecked information in an exam or essay.”  
  
Mark nodded, face still red, and thankfully, everyone’s attention was turning back to their work. Lipmann, his voice lowered enough that most wouldn’t have heard it, since everyone had started talking within their groups again, addressed Claire now. “And Claire, whatever the reason, you absolutely don’t talk like this to anyone in school, preferably anywhere, is that understood?”  
  
“Yes Mr. Lipmann, I’m sorry,” she said, still unable to meet his eyes. Sitting next to her, I could see her fists clenching under the table. He looked at her for a moment, shook his head.  
  
“Continue with your list please, you guys are up first in five minutes.” With those words he shambled off, to continue his rounds in class. Making sure no one else was fucking this up quite as bad as we did. Children, silly kids, the whole bunch. Annoying Mark, smug Clark, drama queen Claire, convinced he is funny even though he really is just mean Yamato, and countless more.  
  
Sitting with them in this class wasn’t only a waste of my time; it was a waste for the people living in this city. They needed me more on the streets, patrolling! Not sitting here, making an annoying list for the reasons of why people went to create the first English colonies in North America.  
  
“Would you write, Missy?” Clark asked, pushing the transparency and the red pen to me, “You have the best handwriting here.”  
  
I did have better handwriting than him, yes. Not like that was hard, mind you. He wrote like an electrocuted doctor. And of course we wouldn't have let Mark write, even if he had been a professional calligrapher, but Claire actually had the best. Of course, she was wasn’t in the right condition to write at the moment, so, I would have to, unless I decided to be petty.  
  
Clark was nice enough to Claire, minding her feelings, but not nice enough to put some effort into it and do this himself, instead pushing it on to me. If Claire hadn’t been pretty with her blonde ponytail and stylish clothes, he wouldn’t even have done that.  
  
I didn't want a second argument even more unnecessary than the first one, so I nodded, and started to copy his bullet-points on the transparency. They were quotes from the earlier text anyway.  
  
“I’m sorry, guys,” Mark mumbled, but we ignored him. Claire wouldn’t call the ambulance if she found Mark injured, or miss-dial once or twice at the best of times. Clark only cared about his two friends and pretty girls like Claire, and Mark’s situation with him would be bad enough anyway, since the idiot was neither, but he was also super annoying.  
  
I didn’t like any of them. Instead, we were all silent. I was writing, Mark was sulking, Claire had started to sneak a glance on her smart-phone and Clark was trying to look as if he wasn’t sneaking glances at Claire. I could hear the group next to us, Sarah, Kevin, Jessica and Zeynep, talking about their points, which so far, seemed to be like ours. I wasn’t particularly fond of anyone there either but I would have traded places with any one of them without any thought. They at least got stuff done without much drama.  
  
I hated this class and I wish I could just blow it off. The galling thing was, I needed to maintain a certain level of good grades and attendance to keep being an active Ward. I had heard so many lectures and briefings on how 'the extracurricular cape activities depended on me getting my education first' that I could have replicated them in my sleep.  
  
While they would meet me halfway, make up for some inevitable shortcomings, they expected me to pull my weight. Which, fair enough, I was willing to do. But I had been a Ward for years now and the older I got, the more interesting became the things I would be allowed to do. At the same time, school was getting harder and harder, taking up more of my time than ever. It cut into the more interesting and not to mention important Ward time.  
  
Dean didn’t have that problem. He was smart and hard-working enough to juggle all of this crap effortlessly. I bet his group works didn’t end in such a disaster. He could probably control his groups. I should’ve done more, never let Mark get invested in his stupid idea or let Claire get so worked up over them.  
  
“A fishing boat hit one of those sunken ships and the fishers were apparently bailed out by New Wave,” said Claire, now calm again, putting the smart-phone back in her purse. It was a pretty purse, a sleek purple, from a good brand, but one too impractical for my lifestyle.  
  
Vista didn’t have any use for purses. It’s not like I could carry them when fighting crime. “Glory Girl saved them. Flew the fishers to land.” Claire was an avid follower of the Glory Girl tag on Facebook, Twitter and beyond.  
  
Great, now I had to think of Dean’s freaking girlfriend. I scowled. Clark noticed and smirked, “What, not a fan of hers?” His tone was mocking, as if he knew why I disliked her and judged me for it.  
  
At Clark’s tone, Claire had perked up, shooting me a puzzled look. “Yeah, what’s up with that? You met her or something?”  
  
“Not going to buy her toys and shirts, if that’s what you mean,” I said, finishing writing the last point, trying to push all thoughts of her being Dean’s girlfriend out of my head, “Just more of a Miss Militia fan myself.”  
  
“Sure you are,” once again, he said every word clearly and slowly, with that arrogant smile, “I’m sure your great personality is why you prefer the hero with the covered face.”  
  
What an asshole. Vista could destroy Clark, with ease. Clark wouldn’t have dared to say this to Vista’s face, or any Ward for that matter. He thought he could get away with Missy, though.  
  
Well, he thought wrong. “Could be,” I said, shrugging, as I leaned back and met his gaze, “Who’s your favorite? Kaiser?”  
  
He bristled, “Hell no, he’s a Nazi!”  
  
I was unfair to him, I knew that, I had seen and fought real Neo-Nazis. He wasn’t one of them, and even if he had such tendencies, I’d really doubt that they would let a thirteen year old boy join. He was unpleasant enough, true, but definitely not a member. He shouldn’t have insulted me though.  
  
I smiled at him, “Oh, I didn’t think that would be a deal breaker for you.”  
  
Mark was glancing at us, his head shifting from Clark to me and back, clearly concerned about the brewing fight. “You’re such a bitch!” Clark hissed, shooting a panicked look at Claire, whose eyes had widened, her mouth opened in a silent o.  
  
Clark, having short, cropped blond hair, blue eyes, and being an avid fan of metal-bands and their shirts, had the bad luck to resemble part of the E88 audience.  
  
“And you’re an asshole,” I said, keeping an eye on Lipmann, who was currently at the other end of the classroom. Good, we had gotten enough of his attention as it is.  
  
“I’m not a Nazi!” he said, a bit louder than he probably wanted, as Irma, seated close to us, snorted. As if repeating that would change the fact that Claire seemed to doubt him right now more than before.  
  
Yeah, good luck asking her out now, idiot.  
  
“Sure,” I replied, having said my piece. There was no need to engage further in this. It’s not like he mattered.  
  
“My step mother is Pakistani and-“even though he clearly wanted to elaborate on that, Mr. Lipmann interrupted him.  
  
“Okay, people, time is up. Group one over there, you’re up. Projector is ready.”  
  
Well, this was going to be a success.  
  
xxxx  
  
Relief flooded me when the bell rang. Our short presentation had went better than expected. Seeing that Clark and Claire were still shaken, and Mark was still cowed from his embarrassment, I stepped up and had presented our points. It was one of those pointless projects that teachers thought we liked.  
  
Depending on my group, I didn’t hate them, but today had been a chore, more so than usual. At least now, I would get to distract myself easier from my previous thoughts.  
  
Out of sight, out of mind. I walked out of the class, not paying attention to anyone. I could feel Clark’s glare but no need to worry, since he was a nobody. He couldn’t take me if he brought his whole family to fight. Not that he would try.  
  
He did shout “Have fun with all your friends!” after me, but I had already been mostly out of the door. That was all he was good for; snide, petty comments, when I had my back turned, being the kid that he is. He was right, though, I didn’t have friends. There were a few girls I was friendly with. Like Irma, Zeynep and Cornelia. We talked from sometimes and worked well together on projects or group homework but I didn’t see the point of getting any closer than that.  
  
Having friends would mean I'd have to spend time with them, time I could be in the HQ, preparing for patrols, learning actually important stuff. I wasted enough time in school as it is. It wasn’t that I liked reading books on regulations and PRT/Protectorate tactics, but it’s stuff I would need to know once I graduated from the Wards. And Battery, Miss M. and Mrs Eschbach were always good for a lesson in self defense or other stuff.  
  
I would consider nothing else. It was bad enough to that they saw me as the child of the children’s group, I wouldn’t add to it by being dumb and lazy. So, yes, I did tend to focus more on those things than I did on my actual school work beyond the necessary. I wasn’t exactly proud of being a mediocre student, but I didn’t care much either. In fact, it was perfect. No one made fun of me or felt bad for me for being a terrible student, and no one was jealous or tried to approach me for help for being a good one.  
  
It hadn’t been intentional, but it had worked out rather well in that regard. It meant I'd hear the “your grades could be better” lecture by whatever caseworker was responsible for me that month, but that was worth it. No matter how much they wanted it, not every Ward could be a straight A student. They knew that.

“Hey, Missy”, I turned to see Alice. She was a pretty, athletic black haired girl with dark skin and a few months older than me. She was wearing a sporty jeans and t-shirt combo and a trendy sweatband on her right wrist in the school colors. From all the people in the school who were not my friends, she was the one person who maybe, actually kinda was. I wasn’t sure any more.  
  
We had been closer, at one time, when we were younger, but had grown apart over the years. I triggered and she had started to play soccer on a competitive level, or training for it at least. Brockton Bay didn’t have much to offer in sports teams, but I think our girls soccer team was the best of the sorry lot. She had a certain place saved for her in Arcadia, the school with said good team. She was already there several times a week for practice.  
  
Then again, I also had a spot reserved but for different reasons. We were still on good terms but our duties, even if hers was only playing soccer, didn’t leave us much time to talk. Seeing that I didn’t tell her about triggering and becoming a Ward, we didn't have much to talk about anyway.  
  
“What’s up, Alice?”

“Look, quick question,” she was fidgeting, her left hand tucking a strand of her black hair behind her ear. It wasn’t very long, a short ponytail at best but there was a bit that tended to escape. “Not sure if you know, but we’ll be playing Boston in a week. It determines if we’re advancing in the U-14 National League final round.” That was impressive. I had no idea that our team was anywhere near that good. If they were doing that well, they were way better than I thought. I didn’t have the time, or honestly, any wish to keep up with it. It’s not like my parents would mention it to me.  
  
“Wow, that’s awesome.” It was impressive, sort of. As impressive as sports got, really, but I didn’t exactly see why she would tell me.  
  
“Yeah, and the coach thinks about letting me sub in for this game, probably even start. She said maybe but when she says maybe she means most definitely.”  
  
Okay, that was even better. Not many thirteen year old's got to play for the U-14 main team, especially in such an important game. Then again, even less thirteen year old's were members of superhero teams.  
  
“Okay, that’s seriously amazing, congratulations!” Just a sport or not, Alice cared for it, and I was happy for her. I wanted to hug her for a bit, but we weren’t close enough for that any more. So I smiled and offered my fist which she bumped hard with a wide grin.  
  
“Yeah, she let me play a few times and seemed satisfied and if I do alright, and if we win, I’ll definitely play in the finals.” She was beaming by now, unable to hide her joy. “And I know,” she said and her smile dimmed a bit at her words, “I know,” she said, “that we haven’t been as close as we were, me with training and you with your… stuff.”  
  
  
I didn't wince. There had been the occasional moment when I had wanted to share it with her, but there never had been the right time. Even if I had told her, she would have been too busy and I wouldn’t want her to stop chasing her dream to make time for me. It’s not like I couldn’t deal on my own. She would have slowed me down anyway. This must seem more horrible to her, at least I knew why we were both busy, but she knew nothing about my reasons. I wonder what it was that she thought I did. Yet she still came to me like this.  
  
“But,” she continued after her little pause, taking a deep breath, straightening her pose as if she were going to recite a memorized passage, “you’re still one of my best friends. Maybe we don’t talk as much anymore, but…I care for you, about you and I do want to spend more time with you again.” Alice wet her lips before continuing, her fingers tweaking with the sweatband at her arm, “And I’d love to share this important moment with you. Would you maybe come to the game? If you have the time? Ticket is on me, of course. Best seat, even.” She tried to smile.  
  
Unflappable Alice, who had been this cool girl for a lot of my childhood that I had looked up to was nervous about opening up to me about this, afraid I might decline because of this rift between us. For a second, I was going to reject it out of hand, but a pang of shame flooded through me. No, Alice deserved better. I wanted to go, but I did have responsibilities.  
  
“I’d love to come,” I said, trying a small smile, “but I would need to know exactly when and where before I can promise. I would tell you tomorrow though.”  
  
She was beaming, giving me a surprise hug. “Oh, I’m so happy,” she cheered and let me go, her hands holding mine. “It’ll be next Thursday, the 14th at 2:30 PM, in Arcadia.”  
  
“Thank you, Alice. Really, it’s lovely of you to ask me.”  
  
“Hey, I had to. You saw me start this all, back when you were my first goalie and had the privilege to see my amazing talent first. You deserve to witness me entering the national stage like this, as a starting player.”  
  
There was the Alice I knew, the unshakable confidence that was so easily confused for arrogance when you didn’t know her. And at times, when you did know her. I did miss her, a bit.  
  
Huh.  
  
“I also saw how you ran head-first into the chair that was the goalpost. Should be fun to see you repeat that in front of a bigger audience than your family.”  
  
Her older brother had laughed so hard, he had tears in his eyes. Even her moms had giggled, knowing she hadn’t hurt herself worse than she did her pride.  
  
“Wow, you have the memory of an elephant,” she laughed, her hand playing with the sweatband, “You really need to forget that, once people hound you for interviews.”  
  
“What difference would that one make, I have dozens just like it.”  
  
“Guess I have to bribe you, huh?” Alice mused, shaking her head. She checked her phone for the time, “Well, hate to cut this short but I do have training. Mei’s big brother is driving us to Arcadia today and I’m late as it is. Thank you, again. I hope you can make it.”  
  
“Yeah, same, good luck with training.”  
  
“Thanks, see ya!” and with that and a jaunty wave she hurried away, leaving me to my thoughts as I stored the books I wouldn’t need any more in my locker.  
  
While school was over now, I still had roughly ten minutes to catch my bus. It would be the second bus. I hated taking the first one. Way too full and loud. Seeing I had to stay at home for at least an hour or two before I could go to the rig, wasting ten minutes here was fine with me. I checked social media on my phone, both of my phones. The phone I had for Missy barely saw any use as it is. I had both with me at all times when I was in school, of course. They looked identical, but one had marks.  
  
My Protectorate issued phone had chat groups with my fellow Wards. We didn’t talk a lot, but it was useful for scheduling stuff. And the occasional funny picture.  
  
Also, the occasional sms, as I saw the letter icon blinking. Curious, I clicked on it.  
  
_Read and weeeeep, hoebag, just had my 1 solo patrl!!1 Spoiler: I rocked ; -)_  
  
Origami, a Ward from Fargo, had turned fourteen last week and was now allowed for solo patrols. Lucky bitch. Of course, she would rub it in my nose. Smiling, I typed my response.  
  
_u suck_  
  
That should be enough. A few more months, okay, nine, and I could go as well.  
  
Pushing my locker close, I started walking towards the bus-station. It’s always weird, to walk like this. If I concentrate, I could extend and push my power into everything surrounding me, shorten any distance I want to walk. It would be easy and I liked using my powers to mold everything in my presence like that. I could feel every object, the whole school, all the doors, windows, rooms. The chairs, tables, blackboards, lockers.  
  
If I wanted, I could twist this place into a volleyball or a labyrinth. It made me feel…bigger than I was, in a way. Not in a sense of size, but rather, as more than I am now.  
  
It was a strong power, and when I got older, I would be stronger still. Really strong. As in, heavy hitter of the Protectorate strong. Which is why it was so frustrating to be treated like a little kid, when people patted me on the head.  
  
One guy had tried to talk with me about cartoon ponies once, believing I would certainly be watching that. Just last week, a woman even gave me a poster of a boy band jerk, with a wink. Being the responsible hero in training that I am, I hadn't thrown it back in her face. Instead I had smiled and thanked her, agreeing to keep it a secret between the two of us, because I sure as hell didn’t want anyone find out about it, ever. If Dennis or Sophia had gotten wind of that, I would've been hearing about that for weeks.  
  
Heh, something to tell Alice, maybe. Someday.  
  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
  
The bus ride had taken roughly twenty minutes, time I had spent listening to music, which was better than the loud chatter of the others. A bus full with kids between ten and fourteen. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience. The occasional bump in the bus due to minor road damage didn’t help either, especially now that we had gotten close to my stop.  
  
When I got out, it was a short walk to my apartment. The buildings showed their age, paint bristling, cracks here and there, and the colors a muted grey but there was also a distinct lack of graffiti’s. The colors and sprays of the various gangs of Brockton Bay hadn't managed to gain a foothold here.  
  
Sometimes, some grunt from one of the gangs sprayed a symbol on the bus station or a wall, but they never lasted longer than a few weeks before they were removed. The apartment complex next to ours had one section where paint had been slapped over it just recently, making it stand out quite a bit.  
  
This was, as Miss Militia had explained to me back when I joined the Wards, former Marquis territory. Apparently, he had shown some restraint and foresight when ruling his section of the city. For a lowlife, criminal gang boss, at least.  
  
The sideway had a bit of trash lying around, which was easy to avoid. One or two empty bottles, wrappers of burgers and candy littering next to a half empty trashcan. It was more than usual, and had been here this morning, when I had gone to school. Probably a few older teenagers who went out to party and drink last night.  
  
Those were always annoying to deal with on patrol. It was hard enough to get any respect as it is, but drunken teens?  
  
All that aside, I liked it here. It wasn’t exactly fancy and clean, but the residents couldn’t complain. Water, gas and electricity worked all the time, the Internet and phone connections were solid, busses were relatively punctual and reliable. No shakedowns or muggings on the street, although residents had learned to navigate Brockton Bay well enough to avoid that most of the time.  
  
I had been in the bad parts of Brockton Bay, not even the slums or the Merchant controlled streets. Where buses, garbage trucks, street cleaning and other official stuff was barely working. No, lacking a real gang presence, this was as good as people with my parents jobs could do. I also knew for a fact that our Wards and Protectorate patrols passed through here from time to time.  
  
I unlocked the door, announcing my arrival, “Mom, I’m home.”  
  
I switched the light on and took of my shoes and jacket. No reply, not that I expected one.  
  
The room was messy. Magazines sprawled on the table, it smelled like cigarettes and I could see that dirty dishes were cluttering the kitchen sink. It wasn’t a big place, a four room apartment with one bath, more than enough for the two people living here. One room for each of us, a kitchen, a living room and the bathroom.  
  
Once a week, mom would try to tidy up but she never got too far, so, it had fallen to me. I didn’t enjoy doing the dishes or vacuum the floors but I didn’t mind. It gave me something else to do, a certain duty. In a roundabout way, her apathy was confidence in me, believing I could handle these things. I doubted she thought like that but it made things easier for me.  
  
At least she was careful about keeping us stocked with groceries. I suspected she remembered whenever she brought cigarettes. Still, whatever the reason, I was grateful for that. Would hate to have grocery shopping on my to-do list on top of everything else.  
  
I went for the landline phone, to check for phone calls from dad. When he called, he did so during school time, so he left voice messages. It was irritating, it made me worry. Was it him avoiding actually talking that way or did he want me to be able to replay those?  
  
How was I supposed to know? Asking him would make things weird and he was too busy to pick when I called.  
  
There wasn’t one, but it had been a longshot anyway. He usually called Mondays but I checked every day anyway, and sometimes it panned out.  
  
Still having time to kill, I started the chores. I opened the windows, to let some fresh air in and hope the stench of cigarettes would leave at least a bit. I had tried a few over the last week and I was getting used to them but I still couldn’t stand the smell. I took care of the dishes and ran the vacuum cleaner through the living room and kitchen. Bath would have to wait for another day. Half an hour later, it wasn’t exactly presentable but at the very least, I wasn’t ashamed to live here anymore.  
  
A glance on the clock told me that I still had forty minutes before I had to leave. I prepared a sandwich and went in my room, booting up my laptop. I didn’t particularly enjoy PHO, but it was part of my duty as a Ward, to have a certain media presence and interact with the fans and public.  
  
All the Wards dealt with it in different ways. Some were enthusiastic and engaging, like Clockblocker and Aegis. Others were reserved and polite, like Gallant and me and some were uncomfortable and awkward like Kid Win and Triumph back when he was a Ward. Shadow Stalker, well, her hardly posting did fit in with the persona she had made for herself. She was rough and tended to go with dismissive short replies, hardly the way the PR people wanted the Wards to come over. Still, she got away with that, because of her edgy image.

Apparently it was weirdly popular with a certain kind of creepy guys.  
  
I didn’t get that option. Didn’t matter to them that teenagers didn’t respond well to this utopic boy- and girl-scout shtick they expected from us. From me. This all sugar and no spice act. Cute and approachable, the PR-guy told me, two years back and every time we met since.  
  
I hated it, but I still had to do it. Throwing a fit would make me look more childish and they would look at any protest from me as that.  
  
So, I replied to people who had tagged or pm-ed me. I liked some posts, commented once in the thread for the upcoming soccer match, wishing the U-14 girls the best of luck, which I’m sure would get a few likes and enthusiastic posts from soccer fans.  
  
Sports teams always wanted Ward attention and so far, since I didn’t exactly care for it, I hadn’t supported a team at all. There was a friendly rivalry between Aegis and a Ward from Denver about their American Football high-school teams that was entertaining to follow, for example. A lot of Wards tended to be somewhat active there, to seem normal and approachable.  
  
It could create trouble with the more intense and hardcore fans but in general, Wards served to moderate those fans. You’re are less likely to insult someone who could fly and take any punch you could dish out. I even checked in the Wards only forum, to see if there was anything new or worrisome going on.  
  
I would like to say I interacted more with the other Wards but it wasn’t the case. I am in the younger age-group for Wards. Not the youngest, there were others, but they weren’t patrolling or doing much. We had a private sub forum and a group chat on PHO and I did talk with a few, from time to time. There had been some activity. Mostly Origami, Oculus and Telegram wasting everyone’s time. Origami was boasting about her solo patrol.  
  
But no, nothing new or interesting. The thread on funny and embarrassing moments on patrol was always worth checking out but no one had posted anything since last night. Pity that, I could have used something to cheer me up.  
  
The thread on general questions had seen some activity, a new Ward in Ohio asking about some procedural problem. I didn’t read his post. Why bother? Even if I had the solution, the last few times I had tried to answer someone, I had gotten a reply on how it was cute that I tried to help but that they would rather have the answer from someone with a bit more experience. My stomach curled when I thought about that. So yeah, fuck that.  
  
Lesson learned.  
  
Before I ruined my mood completely, I turned off my pc, checking the time to see that I still had ten minutes to kill. So, I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and headed out, taking the next bus to the PRT headquarters in Brockton Bay.  
  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
  
Entering the HQ had become boring and routine. It had been exciting at first, especially since we shouldn’t enter it in our civilian identities. Villains should avoid stalking the entrance to ferret out cape identities due to the unwritten rules but you never knew when a villain would go too far. So, better to not give them the chance. They were villains, after all, breaking laws and rules is kinda what they did.  
  
As the solution for that, the Protectorate had purchased a store in the mall nearby. The store, a bookshop that was meh at best, had an underground tunnel directly into the section next to the lobby, but just as well guarded. What had been outright adventurous at the beginning, had long since become routine.  
  
Enter bookshop, the man working behind the counter let me into the “for workers only” section, which had a door leading into the tunnel, which was pretty much a boring hallways with some security measures, and then enter the HQ.  
  
“Hey Mr. Perry,” I greeted the middle aged, bespectacled man in uniform, once the door scanner had let her in.  
  
“Good afternoon, Miss Biron,” he was polite as always, a small smile on his lips as he glanced on the screen in front of him. Miss Militia had explained to me back when I joined how various sensors and scanners looked for all sorts of things. Body mass, height, weight, brainwaves, to ferret out possible Strangers, Changers or Master effects. They weren’t perfect, of course, there was always the assumption that some jerk with the perfect power-set to bypass all this had triggered, but it was reasonable enough to trust for now. No sense in needless paranoia that only crippled what productivity and effectivity was left.  
  
Containment foam shooters, and armed PRT guards were also nearby but we Wards didn’t usually talk with them. It was rude to distract them while on duty like that.  
  
The walk to my room only took a few minutes. The elevator ride was short and my room wasn’t close to that anyway. All Ward rooms were. The room here was roughly the same size as my room home. It seemed bigger, though, since I had less stuff here, even if I spent as much time here as I did at home.  
  
It wasn’t that I couldn't have my stuff over. If I wanted, I could keep everything I owned in this room. It would just seem sad and childish if I put my private stuff in here. Things like a poster of Alanna and plushies of the Blue’s Clues dogs didn’t exactly convey professionalism.  
  
So all the room had was a bed, a table with a PRT issued laptop, a team picture, a night-stand with a small lamp, a closet with a bunch of clothes, two nice dresses for formal events, my uniform, my reserve uniform, a few generic domino masks, casual clothes for downtime and underwear. Also bathroom stuff. Not to mention thick socks, since my feet often got cold when I sat too long without moving.  
  
It also had a bookcase that contained school books, PRT and Protectorate guidebooks, two folders full with printed out pages from various meetings, seminars and courses, riddled with post-its and a few books for leisure reading.  
  
The walls were blank. I didn’t want to put up TV-show, movie or cartoon posters: those would bring across the wrong image. I also didn’t want to put up pictures of landscapes or something that made my room scream wannabe adult.  
  
So, blank it was. I liked it, in a way. Less distraction, more professional.  
  
I changed. We all also had a costume or two in the locker room, but that was for when we had to deploy fast. My costume, or rather, my uniform wasn’t particularly spectacular. It could do without the stupid, useless skirt and it was a bit too bright but it did its job.  
  
The briefing room was empty, but then again, I tended to be early. Five minutes before it started and there hadn’t been any new developments that would warrant extra, early preparation. Just one more routine patrol, so, everyone was taking their time.  
  
I didn’t have to wait for long. Gallant and Clockblocker entered first, shortly followed by Shadow Stalker, all in full costume. All two minutes before the meeting started.  
  
“Good evening, Missy,” Gallant greeted me with a smile, which I returned, trying and failing to keep the blush out of my face.  
  
“Hey Gallant,” I replied, trying not to be annoyed that he called me in my civilian name while I was in costume. Then I nodded to Clockblocker and Shadow Stalker who grunted, ignoring me, and sat down on the chair on the far right, whereas Clockblocker waved, clearly not very enthusiastic about this.  
  
The screen on the wall turned on, depicting a map of Brockton Bay. Several dots sprinkled over it, with certain areas having colored zones, red marking the ABB, blue the PRT/Protectorate, Yellow for the Merchants and Brown for the E88. Not terribly creative color-coding but it was good enough. The small blue triangles following dotted lines through various streets showed the patrol routes of Protectorate members on the field.  
  
“Okay, people,” Clockblocker started, “instructions are this; Gallant and Vista take the route that covers the area in the docks near the old northern ferry station, the three blocks there. Usual patrol stuff: be seen, don’t damage any property, don’t do something stupid in front of a smart-phone camera, call in for help as soon as you see anything, yadda, yadda, yadda. You know the drill. Same to Stalker and me, only, we’ll take the route more on the left, the boardwalks and stuff. That way, we’ll be able to back up each other as fast as we can. Well, Vista can bring you two quickly, you’ll have to depend on Stalker to save your bacon.”  
  
Well, I wouldn’t count on that. I’m not entirely sure Shadow Stalker wouldn’t just leave us to die. That was probably unfair of me, but she hadn’t exactly made it easy to like her.  
  
“Velocity and Miss M. are supposed to be relatively nearby, so, you know, call them if there is any need, like if you stumble on a Merchant party or whatever it is that Lung does when he’s bored. Triumph is on duty as well, but he’ll be further away, so, things would have to get pretty messed up.”  
  
Wouldn’t that be awkward, to stumble upon Clark tonight in a Nazi rally?  
  
“Any new developments?” Gallant asked, having paid keen attention so far.  
  
“Nah, nothing, really. Whatever we learned in yesterday’s meeting, still seems to hold true today. So, there shouldn’t be any surprises.” Otherwise, this briefing would have been given by a Protectorate member or even Piggot herself and not Clockblocker.  
  
He clapped his hands, standing up, while Gallant turned the screen off. “Okay people, “he said, “Let’s get this show on the road. Don’t do anything to piss Piggot off, I like not having to deal with her more than necessary.”  
  
“If you don’t pull your weight tonight,” Stalker growled, “I will hurt you.”  
  
“Have a bit of faith, will you? Just because I don’t have a nemesis like you do, doesn’t mean I’m not taking this seriously”  
  
The one member of the relatively new, unimportant team called Grue had caught Stalker’s eye in a not so good way and we all had noticed. Shadow Stalker’s mask glared at Clockblocker, before she said, “You better do.”  
  
Gallant spoke up, “I’m sure we’ll all do our best tonight, each and every one of us.” How he managed to say something so corny and make it sound convincing and cool is something I don’t quite understand. I guess it’s because he’s sincere and honestly just that good of a guy. You believe him, even a grouch like Shadow Stalker would. She snorted, and started to walk out of the room, with Clockblocker following her with a shrug.  
  
Or not.  
  
“Good luck, you two,” said Clockblocker, while Shadow Stalker had something different to say as a parting shot.

“Observe the streets as well and not only your teammates, squirt,” she said before leaving the room.  
  
I had been staring at Gallant and I jerked my head aside, my ears and face burning. Fuck, he had seen it! Shit, he must be sensing it! Why did I have to like the guy with the emotion sensing powers? I hated these feelings, they made me look like an beginner.  
  
Clockblocker still stood there. I didn’t look at him or at Gallant, didn’t want to see if they were exchanging glances. “Uncool,” he muttered, “going to speak with her. You two, just focus on the patrol.”  
  
With that, he left, being lucky enough to escape this awkwardness. “Hey, Missy,” Gallant said, his voice gentle and it made me feel even worse, “don’t mind her, Sophia allows her mouth to make decisions without letting her brain check first when she's a bit grumpy. Don’t let it drag you down.”  
  
I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything, trying to ignore the fact that he was trying to make it sound like Sophia was the Grinch. I didn’t know what to say.  
  
He knew, of course he knew. He’d probably even know without his emotion sensing powers before Shadow Stalker opened her stupid fat mouth. And he was nice enough not to address the elephant in the room, allowing me to keep my dignity at least a little bit but even that bit of kindness just made me like him more and feel worse because of it.  
  
“It’s Vista,” I said through my clenched teeth, as I too, started to walk out of the room, “Let’s just go, we have a schedule to keep.” Gallant sighed, and followed silently. Oh god, how am I going to get through this patrol?  
  
Stupid Shadow Stalker.  
  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
  
We left the building at roughly eight PM. I always got the earlier patrols, since I wasn’t allowed to leave the compound after ten PM. Only those older than sixteen were allowed the ten to twelve time bracket and no Ward could go later than that.  
  
It had always struck me as super unfair, but I couldn’t exactly complain, since as far as I understood it, the Wards of most other cities were confined to day time patrol for most of the time. Brockton Bay had always been the exception in many cases. I guess Chicago, Detroit and L.A were other problem areas where the Wards had similar duties. I knew that many Wards had been jealous of this and had bitched a lot in the Wards only threads.  
  
Assault had explained it, that the PRT in Brockton Bay could make use of a loophole in the law that allowed for the Wards to patrol in night-time in a state of emergency. An interesting definition of a state of emergencies could be when a particular number of villainous parahuman activity was happening in comparison to the parahumans the PRT and Protectorate in any given city could field against them.  
  
Seeing that the E88 alone outnumbered us three to one, Brockton Bay practically needed the Wards. Whatever the excuse, I liked it. It gave me more to do, a better reason to not go home. Vista was a lot more useful than Missy anyway, stronger, more necessary. Normally, having patrol with Gallant would just an extra icing on that cake, if things hadn’t been super awkward thanks to Shadow Stalker.  
  
I shortened the distance between rooftops, allowing us both to cross larger distances in short time from above the city. It wasn’t as good as flying or Shadow Stalkers jumps but it was useful enough and I could bring more people with me. Right after that, now able to look all around us and seeing nothing out on the ordinary, Gallant tapped the left side of his helmet.  
  
“Gallant to mission control, so far, Vista and I haven’t encountered anything or anyone suspicious.”  
  
“Roger that Gallant, continue your patrol,” said Mr. Höffe, the guy on duty this night. Gallant turned off the communicator in-built into his helmet, and nodded to me.  
  
“We should continue,” he said, “Hopefully it remains this quiet.”  
  
I hoped otherwise, but didn’t say so. Admitting I wanted action so he could see me doing something cool and competent rather than think about me ogling him on patrol would be much preferable.  
  
At this point, I’d take Hookwolf attacking us. His lips were pursed and for a second, I thought he was going to say something. I tensed but he didn’t. He shook his head and started walking south, to the edge of the roof. I caught up twisted the space. I felt the rooftops, I felt the space between them.  
  
Two steps and we had crossed a distance that would have taken a mover or a brute a strong jump. Using my power for that had become second nature to me and didn’t need much in concentration, so I was wrecking my brain to find something, anything, to say. Something that didn’t seem like the desperate try it was to gloss over what Stalker had said.  
  
I didn’t say anything, neither did he, letting us stew in this uncomfortable silence for the next twenty minutes that were only interrupted every five minutes for Gallant to give his concise status report. I always admired that he was never too stuck up or self-important.  
  
My comlink turned on and I heard Clockblocker’s voice.  
  
“Hey, not to worry anyone but I think the Empire goons are up to no good.”  
  
Before any one of us could ask to clarify, Shadow Stalker linked herself in.  
  
“There’s some sort of meeting. Dozens of lowlifes, getting high and wasted.”  
  
Höffe’s voice was stern and calm, “Vista and Gallant are coming to your position, do not engage before they arrive. In fact, PRT cars and Velocity are on their way as well, ETA five to six minutes. Wait if there is no immediate need to intervene.”  
  
“Understood,” replied Gallant and Clockblocker. I opened my cellphone to see the address that Clockblocker had already sent me. Ward phones had an app of sorts that every address from an official source automatically activated the navigator of the phone, opening the map and planning the route to the destination.  
  
“It’s not far from here, within their normal route,” I told Gallant, “We’ll be there in a minute tops.  
  
He nodded and we hurried. My thoughts were jumbled, and I felt myself getting pumped. It was wrong, but I was looking forward to this. I’d rather fight Nazis and show Gallant that I was more than this embarrassing and pathetic creep.  
  
I didn't want to like him. So I admired him a bit, so what? I hated these feelings that made me look as if I was hoping for something. Still, I liked the thought of proving myself in a definite manner that would show them. Maybe I could even protect Gallant? Guys liked being protected by younger, smaller girls, right?  
  
I snorted, yeah, that was going to happen. No, I can’t think like this, not in a serious situation, right before combat.  
  
Snapping my thoughts back to the matter at hand just in the right time, when we arrived with the others.  
  
“What’s the situation?” I asked, once I surrendered my grasp on the roof and ground and everything snapped back to normal.  
  
“Way too many assholes in there. No capes so far though, unless they are there dressed, well, even more down than usual.”  
  
“Are they actually doing anything illegal?” Gallant asked, arms crossed over his chest.  
  
“Well, busting them on possession is always a safe bet. Besides most of them should have warrants. The E88 are an illegal organization anyway, so, should be good to go.”  
  
“We’re supposed to wait for the PRT reinforcements, right?”  
  
“We don’t need them, we can do it on our own,” Stalker said, finally joining the conversation. “They’re just a bunch of losers.”  
  
“They’re a lot of losers, though,” said Clockblocker, “besides, I thi-“  
  
A loud, panicked scream of a man interrupted him mid-speech, the scream coming no doubt from the warehouse the Nazis were squatting in.  
  
“Fuck,” cursed Clockblocker, all mirth gone from his voice, “control, we’re going in. Someone seems to be in trouble.” He turned to me, “Vista, take us in, Stalker, you…”  
  
He trailed off, after seeing that she had already jumped, making herself lighter in her shadow-form. “Yeah, that seems about right,” he muttered.  
  
Deciding not to comment on it, I shortened the distance between us and the warehouse, once there, I let my power fill the walls and door, then I stretched the keyhole to be so big, all three of us could step in at once.  
  
What we saw was some sort of ring-fight. A circle of the criminals and low-life in the city that had deluded themselves into thinking they were any better than the Merchants or the ABB. They were standing in a circle, roughly two dozen of them, all of them wearing jeans and jackets, combat boots and had been cheering on a fight where a terrified man with dark complexion and bleeding from his lips, nose and clutching his bleeding right arm was trying to keep his distance from a skinhead with a knife. Several large containers were stacked all around the warehouse.  
  
Immediately Gallant began blasting into the crowd, beams of calm and caution, his go-to beams. Harmless and they only made the other fighters calm down and less likely to fight. It didn’t always work but we didn’t expect a bunch of drunk idiots to be able to be strong-willed enough to throw that off fast enough for it to matter.  
  
“Okay people, you’re all under arrest. Calm down, hands in the air where we can see them and don’t make this hard.”  
  
Clockblocker’s order was of course ignored as they moved into action. A few daring morons rushed us, with knifes drawn, whereas most others started to run for the exits.  
  
Well, we can’t have that, can we? I started to sprint to the side, focusing my power on the exit the criminals were running to and lifted the door up high. They stopped and turned, fear and anger on their faces. Fear bled to rage as they saw it was me preventing them from getting away and they all drew knives.  
  
Battery and Miss Milita had both taken turns to show me what to do in close combat, to defend myself against attacks with knives. Unfortunately, that lesson was mostly try to stay away as far from grown men with knives as possible and use my power to do that. I lacked the reach, strength and speed to really pull off any fancy techniques, especially since I wasn’t allowed any tools. Nothing that could evoke the image of an armed thirteen-year-old child soldier.  
  
I extended the space between us and tried to turn it to the side. A quick glance had shown me that the others were all busy. Shadow Stalker was ghosting around, taking pot-shots at them with her tranquilizer darts, keeping the attention on herself and thinning the herd. Clockblocker was trying to talk down the guy who had been fighting in the circle, now he had grabbed his victim and had pressed the knife to his throat, letting the blood from the wounded mans arm seep on the ground.  
  
Gallant was blasting the rest and was now coming to me, to help me with these mooks. I didn’t like it but we needed to wrap them up to help Clockblocker with the hostage. That is, until one of the people ion front of me pulled out a gun and pointed it at us.  
  
“Hold!” he roared,” or I’ll shoot.” He aimed his gun straight at me. I immediately started to infuse the space between us with my power, ready to twist it the second he was going to pull the trigger.  
  
“What’re you doing, man?” hissed the guy next to him. He was shorter than the gunman, had less hair as well. Where he was more lanky, the tall guy looked like he could bend the gun with his bare hands. “We’re not supposed to shoot the fucking Wards.”  
  
“I’m not going to jail because of a kid!” he snarled back. “Hey you, stand right there where I can see you.” His eyes were twitching between all of us.  
  
“Yeah!” agreed the guy holding the hostage. He was tall and sweat was rolling down his bearded face. “We’re going and the second any of you kids makes one more move, I’m slitting this whoresons throat!"  
  
My mind was racing. I couldn’t do both. Gallant couldn’t blast either one. Shadow Stalker could knock out one, maybe. Clockblocker was only close enough to, with good luck, tag the knife holder.  
  
Not to mention there where more Nazis beside those two and they were all standing there, some of them uncertainly skulking to the exits now. No, we couldn’t let them get away. I also focused my power on the space between Clockblocker and the hostage situation. If I got him there fast enough, he could tag either one and that would be that.  
  
That was before the other Nazis got their courage back. “Hell yeah, what do you say, boys? Why run away when we can teach these punks a lesson?” Nervous laughter came from more than a few. The lanky, cautious guy got more aggravated.  
  
“Are you insane? We’re not supposed to do this!”  
  
“Listen to your friend, gentlemen,” Gallant said, his voice tense but loud and clear. “Lay down your weapons and no one has to get hurt today.”  
  
It happened before anyone could react. The man pulled the trigger and shot Gallant in the leg, making him collapse with a scream.  
  
“Shut the fuck up!” the man with the guy roared. “You as well, mate. This situation ain’t our fault so we gotta do what we can.”  
  
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. They hurt Gallant. He might die!  
  
His friends nodded, a few of them started to walk towards us, with a lot more confidence. The man bleeding was whimpering and his face had lost a lot of color.  
  
Fuck, no, we needed to act, now. I managed to capture the gaze of Stalker’s mask and gave her a tiny nod, which she returned. I didn’t know if she could follow my way of thought but I hoped so.  
  
Then I acted. I twisted the ground the gunman was standing on to the left, changing the direction he was aiming his gun at while at the same time I shortened the space between Clockblocker and the knifeman. I couldn’t look to see if he was successful but I was glad to see that Stalker did nail the bastard who shot Gallant with a dart right in the next. Good.  
  
But I hadn't paid attention to everyone. One of them managed to close the distance and kick me in the face. My visor absorbed some of the impact but it still hurt and made hit the wall next to me. I ducked and rolled, trying to ignore the pain and twisted the wall so that it was between me and that nazi scumbag. I heard another shot and Stalker cursing. Someone else had picked up the gun and I couldn’t see how the Clockblocker situation was going. Another shot rang, making me flinch as I raised the ground I was on high, to avoid getting hit and I was able to see that the guy who had called for more action before holding the gun, shaking, with a panicked look on his weasely face.  
  
Stalker was ghosting to the side, avoiding the shots. Clockblocker had tagged both and was now hiding behind a container. No, Gallant needed help and we couldn’t risk any more injuries. Who knew how long Clock’s freeze would hold anyway and then we would be right where we started.  
  
I had to act now, with something out of his sight. Without twisting my head, I let my eyes, and my power, wander. Right now, there were too many people on the ground to do much work, especially sensitive work like that. But above, that was more doable.  
  
I felt every inch of those containers.  
  
Yes, I had to do it. I took a deep breath, infusing my power as wide and deeply as I could under the circumstances. It required a lot of concentration and control in an area where I didn’t have much of either.  
  
The containers behind jerk number one lifted silently, with the ground and all, high and angled enough, that the container on top of it slipped down, right on top of the gunman. At the same time, just to be sure, I twisted the ground in front of the couple to rise as a wall, to cover any and all shots.  
  
The loud groan and of the metal and the following sound of several tons squashing a human body into paste, alongside the screams, of Gallant, of the Nazis, of Clockblocker were something I wouldn’t forget anytime soon.  
  
Nazis that had been advancing on me had turned around, shocked to the core at the death of their friend.  
  
For a few seconds, after the screams had died down, and the container had stabilized and I had put the original container back where it was, it was silent. Then, the almost reasonable Nazi who had called for moderation whirled to face me once more, his body shaking, and the knife still clutched in his right hand.  
  
“You fucking monster!” he screeched, and just as I was about to deal with him, a dart hit him in the neck, making him drop on the ground a few feet in front of me.  
  
I turned around to see Shadow Stalker, using everyone’s shock by hitting the remaining criminals with darts.  
  
“Damn girl, that was intense!" Shadow Stalker sounded excited and I felt her hand slap my right shoulder strong enough to hurt. "Didn't think you had it in you. Hardcore!"


	2. Chapter 2

What had been a relatively quiet, secluded area of the docks, was now swarming with activity and noise. Four police cars, three ambulances, one PRT team and Armsmaster’s motorcycle stood at various entry points. They had created a cordon with yellow police tape, with several officers standing guard at various points, keeping civilians, away.

Two paramedics were talking with the traumatized man, while a police officer hovered next to him, probably waiting her turn to speak with him.

The surviving-, the other Empire members were sitting handcuffed in the police-cars, one in each, with police officers and PRT officials taking first statements each.

Miss Militia was debriefing Gallant, both of them talking on the other side of the crime scene, too far for me to hear them. Currently, her power had the form of a holstered pistol. While the bullet had brought him down, it apparently hadn’t penetrated his armor.

I really wanted to know what they were saying.

“Look,” said Velocity, standing next to me, indecisive whether or not to put his hand on my shoulder or not, if his hovering arm was any indication, “I know this looks bad, but everything will be alright. I promise.”

Whether it is to give me emotional support or stand guard, to make sure I don’t run away or something, I don’t know. Probably both.

“I know,” I said, “the victim and our team came first.”

I could see this had taken him aback, as his flailing hand dropped.

“Well, I mean, yeah, I guess. You guys definitely come first.”

Empty platitudes though, I could do without. I got them enough as it is. So I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure I could, but I didn’t want to try and fail.

My lips were dry, my heart was pounding but honestly, I felt good. Alive. This had been intense, but that was the job, wasn’t it? Everyone in law enforcement and heroing like this could find themselves in a position where they had to act like I did. And I did it, I made the fight end without anyone from our side dying and the victim was saved.

Armsmaster, until now having talked with two police officers, stepped up to Miss Militia. The two exchanged a few words, Miss Militia nodded, put a hand on Gallants shoulder and then the two heroes walked towards me.

“It might not seem like that to you right now, but you saved lives today,” Armsmaster spoke first once they arrived, his voice moderate, with some warmth in it, “this wasn’t an easy situation to handle and you did your best. No one can fault you for that.”

“Thank you,” I croaked, my voice surprisingly rough and scratchy. I cleared my throat. “Thank you,” I repeated, this time with a stronger voice. I tried to meet his gaze, but he had already turned around to answer his comlink. It’s not like I would be able to see his eyes anyway. Instead, I focused on Miss Militia’s power, as it continued to shift between weapons of all sorts. From handgun to knife to a different gun and so on.

“You did good,” said Miss Militia, “but some will blame you for this. I’m not going to lie to you, Vista. This is going to have consequences and not only for you. Don’t forget though, this is something that happens when you engage criminals and drug addicts. Sometimes, things escalate beyond our ability to control. Sometimes, you make a mistake. Sometimes, the person you’re confronting is irrational or high or drunk or just plain stupid. Sometimes, even if it sounds unsatisfying, it’s just bad luck.”

Armsmaster took over, having finished his brief conversation “Today’s outcome wasn’t ideal, true. This was not a call that you should’ve been forced to make,” he said, quite bluntly. “But you had to, and you did. Between the choice of risking the lives of the civilian you guys were defending, and the well-being of the scumbags putting him and you all into danger, you picked the right choice.”

I felt my heart pounding like a jackhammer.

“Vista,” Miss Milita said, now down on one knee, her eyes now on my level, as she put her hand under my chin and softly pushed it higher, making me meet her eyes. “I know, it doesn’t feel like that to you. That’s because you’re a compassionate, noble and truly good young woman, who mourns every loss of life, but believe me. As unfortunate as this was, this was not the worst possible outcome today.”

My chest swelled. This is what I wanted. Recognition, respect from Miss M. and Armsmaster. I am so glad that everyone from us got out alive and I had made that happen.

As if reading my thoughts, Miss Militia continued, “You protected at least two lives today, Vista. You saved one man who had done nothing wrong, who was jumped on his way back from work after a long day. Who was attacked by these lowlifes because of the color of his skin and their cowardice. Who would be dead without you. You saved him, Vista.”

I just nodded, not sure what to say to this.

Not expecting an answer, Armsmaster said, “We have to return to the HQ, now. Director Piggot wants to talk with you, but first we have to take the full statement and contact your parents. The next talk should involve them and your legal counsel.”

My heart dropped, I didn’t know which was worse, the notion of having to tell my parents, my mother, that I had killed someone, or that I needed a lawyer to defend myself from what must be a murder charge.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you,” said Miss Militia, now standing again. She didn’t try to hug me, for which I was grateful. It’s not that I wouldn’t have loved one, but it just felt wrong when I was in costume, on duty. On a crime scene where I had killed someone not even twenty minutes ago

She got it, Miss Militia always did.

Armsmaster had already walked off, Velocity going with him, who took his leave with a weak, uncertain hand-wave. Miss Militia took a silent vigil next to me, standing closer than usual. Velocity had made me uncomfortable but it seemed different with her, for some reason.

Trying to take my mind of that, I once again let my eyes wander over the proceedings. Neither Shadow Stalker nor Clockblocker, were in sight.

“Where are the other two?” I asked, not looking at her.

“Shadow Stalker and Clockblocker are continuing their patrol. Velocity will join them and Triumph is still patrolling. Shadow Stalker’s part in this was clear enough and we got her statement already, short as it was. Same with Clockblocker. Both were unharmed”

I saw her weapon now change to a sniper rifle. I never could tell the weapon models but I think it was the one currently in use by the US military.

“Is any of the others going to be in trouble for this?” I asked after a few minutes. That thought… that fear had been rolling around in the background ever since they mentioned lawyers.

She sighed, “Hard to say. Clockblocker was technically in charge as the oldest Ward present, but then again, while he may be older than you, he’s as untrained for all of this as you are. So, I don’t think he will be punished per se, but as I said, there are going to be consequences. Probably for all the Wards.”

“It’s”, I hesitated, “it’s my fault,” I said, trying to push those words out fast.

“What do you mean exactly?” she asked, and I could feel her looking at me.

“It was my decision. None of them forced me to do anything or tried to influence me. It was my call. The others did their best and did nothing wrong. If any of this was a screw-up, because we allowed them to shoot at us, it would be mine. They shouldn’t be punished.”

This time, I looked at her face and while most was covered by her scarf, I think I could see a sympathetic smile. “This wasn’t your screw-up, Vista. It’s too complex of an issue to label it the mistake of one person.” She sighed, pausing for a few seconds to collect her thoughts before she continued.

“Was it your fault for feeling like you had no other choice to save everyone present from that man? Was it Gallants fault for not dodging the bullet? Was it Clockblocker’s for not directing the fight better? Was it Armsmasters or my fault for not going with you, for not having a Protectorate hero accompany Ward patrols at all times? Was it Director Piggots fault for signing off on this patrol? Any number of officials who signed off on the whole system?”

My head was spinning from all these aspects I hadn’t considered and I felt I was about to throw up. Shit, I may have ruined the Wards with my necessary fuck-up.

God, I hoped not. How could I look Gallant and the rest in the eyes if I got them barred from heroing? Not only a murderer but also the person who destroyed their careers.

It’s not like me insisting it was me was going to matter one bit.

“Come,” she said, after a few moments of silence, “We’ll go now. There is nothing we can do here anymore.”

 And with that, we entered a PRT van and drove to the HQ.

xxxx

We arrived in the PRT HQ not ten minutes later.  It wasn’t that far from our position and it was silent for the entire trip. We had parked in the underground passage, away from prying eyes.

It was why I could go out without my costume, which I had been able to change out of during the drive.

“Your mother has probably been already notified, your father as well,” said Miss Militia.

I wasn’t looking forward to that reunion. Thankfully, it would take dad at least one day to return, if he bothered but I guess this was big enough even for him. He had been on a business trip, or so he claimed. It could be true, but it was just as likely that he just wanted to get away.

Would they be proud or horrified?

Once we entered the building, we were greeted by Battery, standing in the lobby.

She took a good look at me, but her voice was surprisingly soft when she finally spoke, “Hey, Missy, are you alright?”

I tried to suppress the scowl, “Yeah, it’s a bit rough but I’m okay, really.”

She, like Miss Militia before, kneeled, to get on the same eye level as me. “I’m so sorry to hear what happened, sweetie.”

I saw Miss Militia cringe, and mostly because she had probably seen my expression.

“I’m fine!” I said, more sharply than I wanted. I felt bad for snapping at Battery, she was concerned because something heavy had happened tonight. That was fair. Doesn’t mean I liked it but I could let my frustrations out on her. “Sorry, I meant, yeah, I’m fine, I promise.”

But I could see I didn’t convince her. I couldn’t see her eyes but her mouth, her voice, her body language, all told me she was pitying me.

“No, no, it’s alright. It’s completely okay.” She paused, “look, Missy, here’s what we’re going to do. We are going to wait for your mother here in the lobby. She will take you home. You’ll just relax, take a day off, get your mind off this accident.”

Accident? I hadn’t dropped it on that guy by accident.

“What about the briefing? Shouldn’t I go to Director Piggot’s office right now?”

“Why don’t you let Gallant handle this one?”

“No, no,” I said, “I can do this, it’s fin-“

“Missy,” she interrupted, “I really think it would be best for you to go home. You’re being ordered to, in fact.”

I looked at Miss Militia, who was observing us two intently,

“It’s true, we’re really waiting for your mother. We could have brought you home ourselves, but it’s protocol that the parents or guardians pick up the kids after…stressful situations. It’s more calming to return home with a parent rather than being brought to them by uniformed officials, or so they tell me.”

I clenched my fists, my thoughts whirling, Stressful situation? Them forcing me home without debrief, Battery treating me like a glass figurine, repeating again and again if I was fine, those things were stressing me out!

“I did my job and I want to finish it with a statement to the director!”

 

Before they could answer, we heard the entrance door opening, and a loud, shrill voice penetrated the room.

“Missy!” my mother had arrived and her voice was panicked. Her cheeks were flushed, she didn’t have any makeup on and her face was pale. She was wearing her red jacket, the one she usually wore when she remembered to put one on before going out for a smoke.

She saw me and sprinted towards us. The second she reached me, she pulled me into a tight hug.

“Oh, honey,” she cried, and I couldn’t help but return the hug. It had been nearly two months since the last time, on my birthday, “what did they do to you!”

She kissed my forehead, and hugged me one more time, “don’t you worry, honey. It wasn’t your fault. You did nothing wrong!”

“Mom, it’s alright. This can happen.”

A bitter smile on her face, tears pooling in her brown eyes. She caressed my cheek, “No, no, you mustn’t say that, Missy. You can’t blame yourself,” her eyes hardened as her head turned to glare at Miss Militia and Battery, causing the latter to wince. “This is on them!”

“Mrs. Biron,” started Miss Militia to say, but mom interrupted her.

“No,” she hissed, “I don’t want to hear it. I’m taking my daughter home and I’ll return with our lawyer. What were you thinking, letting a small child like her fight dangerous criminals on her own!”

“Mom, I can handle it,” I tried to interject, but she wouldn’t hear it.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, everything will be okay.” She tried to smile when talking to me but she was too angry to do so convincingly. Not waiting for a response, she grabbed my hand, and dragged me alongside her.

My face flushed, my stomach felt as if I had drunk two bottles of liquid lead. This was mortifying. I’m pretty sure I had nightmares like this, where my mother pulled me out of my workplace as if I was a naughty schoolkid.

And everyone could see it! It happened in front of Miss Militia and Battery, two capes I looked up to. It happened in front of everyone else and in it was probably recorded.

If I tried to pry myself off her, try to calm her down, yell at her, anything, I would be making an even bigger scene.  
  
I would never live this down, especially since my own mother had bitched at Miss Militia for little reason.

I would have to apologize to her.

The drive back home in our car, a dingy six year old sedan the same color as a rotting apple, was awkward. Mom was switching constantly in-between fussing over me and ranting at the Protectorate. The infuriating thing was that she seemed to be unable to understand the fact that this was not a mistake or horrible tragedy that was forced upon me. That I hadn’t been given more than I could handle.

Was this a bad thing? Sure, wish it didn’t happen. But I did the right thing. Any cop or hero in my shoes would have done the same. I saved them, didn’t I? No one had forced that scumbag to join the Empire, to pull out a gun and shoot at Wards. 

“You father is still in Boston,” mother said, as she parked the car. “He’s coming home tomorrow though, as early as he can. I also left a voice message with Mrs. Padila, and we’re going to her office tomorrow.” Her eyes wandered from head to toe, “And I would like to take you to see Dr. Jackson, just to be sure.”

“I wasn’t injured, no one even touched me.”

“I just want to be sure!” she protested, “Who knows what kind of bacteria and sicknesses those Empire degenerates carry and you were so close to them, Missy. Why, I can’t fathom why they allowed that at all! All those drugs and filth.”

“It wasn’t the first time I fought people like that, mom. I arrested dozens so far. I’ve been doing this for over two years now. This is just the first time I…I had to do that.”

Fresh tears pooled in her eyes, as she tried to hastily swipe them away.

“I know, honey, and I’m telling you, you’ll get the best care there is for that. Mommy and daddy will take care of it. For this. For you.”

They hadn’t really talked for months and this is what brought them back to talk again?

“You talked with dad? When?”

She parked the car. “Not even half an hour ago. After the PRT had called me, I immediately called him.”

My mother called my father in the middle of the night and he answered the phone?

Apparently sensing my unasked question, she explained, “We have an understanding that the only reason why I would call him after a certain time, would be because of an emergency and this definitely counts as that.”

“It shouldn’t!” I blurted out, hurrying out my seat and slammed the car door shut, making the car groan. “Everyone is blowing this up more than they should. I’m a professional, I’m experienced at this work. I’m good at it!”

She looked at me, and this time, didn’t wipe away her tears. “Please Missy, please don’t say such things. I beg of you.” With that said, she took two steps to me and embraced me again, this time stronger. I couldn’t help but return the hug.

What should I do? She was too emotional right now to debate this and I didn’t want to make her cry even more.

“Okay, mom. I’m sorry. We’ll talk tomorrow, right?”

She kissed my forehead and ran her hand through my hair, “Yeah, we’ll. I’m not going to work and I’m going to call you sick for the school, so we’ll have all the time to talk, alright?”

We took the elevator up and entered our home. The lights in the living room took their usual five or so seconds to flicker on permanently. We really needed to replace the lightbulbs soon.

After mom had closed and locked the door, she even activated the security alarm the PRT had installed. Only then, did she turn to me.

“Honey, why don’t you take a shower and then go to bed. I’ll tuck you in.” She paused for a bit, her fingers entwining and her gaze shifted from me to the floor and back. “And, and if you feel the need, or just want, you can sleep with me tonight. I wouldn’t mind, I would appreciate it even. Would help me sleep better, probably. What do you say, sweetie?”

My face flushed and I wanted to yell her. Sleep with my mother, as if I was five and had a nightmare? After all these months, now she wanted to be mother of the year, even going this far?

“Look,” I pressed out, my voicer higher than I would have liked. I hated that my voice got so shrill, it was embarrassing, “it’s unnecessary.”

With that, I rushed to the bath, a shower sounded just like what I needed right now.

xxxx

The next morning had been a whirlwind of activity. We had checked in with the doctor, who had, of course, found nothing wrong and then proceeded to drive to Mrs. Padila’s office, where we had consulted with her for over three hours. Now, after a short lunch break, we had finally convened in Director Piggot’s office, with the director herself, Armsmaster, Miss Militia, my mother and Mrs. Padila, the family attorney, in attendance.

“This is a difficult situation,” Piggot’s voice was tense, her words curt and her hands were unnaturally still, fingers entwined on top of her desk. “An unfortunate situation and we aren’t here to place blame or punishment but to see how we deal with this mess and where we go from here.”

Mother, trembling in anger, looked like she was going to punch something, but managed to not say anything. Her hands were gripping the chair she was sitting hard enough, I could see the veins on the back of her right hand. This was the most lively I had seen her in ages.

Mrs. Padila, calm and composed, sitting on the chair to my right, her black briefcase lying next to her, from which she had just pulled a few papers, spoke for her.

“We’d most certainly hope not,” she said, her expression composed and sitting ramrod straight. “What exactly is the situation from your end?” she asked, “You’ll understand that there were certain expectations and promises made to my clients when Miss Biron enrolled in the Wards program back in 2009. My clients do realize that the very nature of this program and the situation on the field doesn’t make it possible to guarantee anything and yet, they do feel as if this tragedy could have been avoided, quite easily so. And having poured over the report just this morning, I can’t help but to agree with them.”

Armsmaster, standing next to Piggot’s large desk, arms behind his back, was frowning.

“I’m going to be frank,” he started, “If Vista had been five years older, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. She made a judgement call in a difficult situation and while it is regrettable that she was forced into this position, ultimately, it’s my professional opinion that she did the right thing to protect the victim, her teammates and herself. It’s usual law enforcement protocol.”

“My client isn’t though,” she replied without a beat, “which is the very crux of this matter. My client, as capable as she is, is a minor. A very young minor. She just entered her teens in fact. She did not have the training, the extensive psychological preparation for taking a life and yet she was forced into this situation. Allow me to also be frank, Mr. Armsmaster, Director Piggot. We’re not here to discuss any form of guilt or punishment regarding my client. That she was forced to take a drastic, tragic step like that is in no shape or form her fault, but the fault of those who put her in that situation to begin with. My clients were under the impression she would be trained and have constant supervision, if it was one of the rare times she was active on the field. Just so that she wouldn’t have to make such a, as you called it, judgement call.” Mrs. Padila looked straight at Director Piggot now, “Instead we find that she was patrolling with only other Wards. And while we’re not disparaging the skills and capabilities of Mr. Clockblocker, Mr. Gallant and Miss Shadow Stalker, they’re still also minors. Minors with less experience being a Ward than Miss Biron herself, even. Mr. Clockblocker, who as I understand it was in charge of this patrol, may be older but I doubt he spent the three years that separates him from Miss Biron undergoing advanced law enforcement training. Unless you can show us sufficient qualifications that exceed those of Miss Biron.”

“Your clients,” and Piggot’s eyes narrowed on my mother who obstinately glared back harder, “were well aware of the situation in Brockton Bay when Vista was signed in as a Ward. Fact of the matter is, we just can’t afford to stick Wards with Protectorate members all the time. There is simply too much crime otherwise and we have a duty to the population. A duty your daughter signed on to and you agreed to.  As such, on days and nights such as this, when no emergency or cape fight is going on, the Wards are able to patrol on their own. So far, they have shown great success at that, and have apprehend countless criminals. Last night, as tragic as it was, was an exception. An unfortunate escalation. As Armsmaster said, it’s also proof that Vista and the Wards can deal with situations like this, even if we wish they wouldn’t. This is the life she signed on to, Mrs. Biron, and you knew that when you gave your permission.”

“I realized she would be in danger, occasionally. With heroes like you two looking over and protecting her,” mother hissed back, “I didn’t think you would send her out on her own with just other kids and have her take on criminals like that.”

I wanted to say something, to give my side, to say my thoughts but mom and Mrs. Padila had been very, very clear that I wasn’t allowed to talk, at all. She had extensively questioned me, on everything that came to her mind on the whole Wards matter in general and what happened yesterday in particular. So, all questions to me, were to go to her, so that I wouldn’t make things more complicated, in their words.

“Your daughter has been participating in Wards-only patrols over her whole time in the Wards, Mrs. Biron. For over two years, with great success, I want to add. Surely, you knew that. It must have come up in one of the many conversations you’ve had with your daughter in all that time.”

Mom’s face reddened, her face twisting in an even uglier snarl, but Mrs. Padila interjected in there,

“Director Piggot,” she said, her expensively manicured fingers tapping on the folder on the table, “my clients were going through a turbulent time these last two years, as you were well aware. The ongoing divorce, Mr. Biron starting a new job in Boston, Mrs. Biron’s battle with her mental sickness. Miss Biron herself was tremendously busy with school life and her Ward duties and as children are wont to do, didn’t share her problems and concerns with her parents. In fact, she rejoiced in her silence. It is, however, not the child’s responsibility to keep the parents informed, even if every parent wished for that to be the case. It is yours. The duty of the PRT and Protectorate, since the Wards program seems to have switched from the latter to the former at some point. And you, instead of heeding the difficult situation the Biron family found themselves in, didn’t take extra steps to keep them in the loop and instead, you have exploited that.”

Director Piggot was silent for a few seconds, and I realized that she wasn’t taking any steps to deny these accusations. “What is it that you want exactly, Mrs. Padil? You and your clients?”

“My clients are suing the PRT and Protectorate for child endangerment, for willful and irresponsible exposure to danger, for not upholding your contractually obligated duties, the duties that even if they hadn’t been agreed upon per law, should have been heeded from a moral standpoint alone. Using a child as young as Miss Biron to fight criminals is nothing short of ironically criminal itself.”

“I can han-“

“No!” yelled my mother, this time glaring at me, “You promised, Missy! You promised!”

I bit my tongue hard enough to hurt and glared at the ground. The carpet on the floor was the same ugly red that was in most offices in the building and it made me want to twist it around my mother and her dumb lawyer, just to shut them up.

She was ruining my life, she was ruining my career!

“As you see, that night left her distraught and in desperate need of psychological counsel and help. Something I notice hasn’t been offered to any Ward so far, even though the contract clearly states that the children would be able to avail themselves to such whenever they wanted.”

“They can, it’s just that no one saw the need to do so,” Armsmaster was visibly frowning, but had otherwise not moved an inch during the conversation.

“It should have been mandatory. Weekly talks, monthly check ups at the very least. Something other than expecting children and teenagers to seek out psychological help on their own, especially with the social stigma hanging over it. The PRT should not have encouraged that by turning two blind eyes.”

“Mrs. Pedira, I can assure you, the Wards had all the help and counseling available they needed.”

“We’ll see if the courts agree with you, Director Piggot. I have my doubts on that. If you didn’t have the budget or the inclination to take proper care of children in such a stressful job that is difficult and taxing for grown adults with decades of experience, then you shouldn’t have offered them this program.”

She handed Piggot a relatively thin folder, “This is a preliminary notice that we are taking legal actions against this department. We will await your law department’s response.” She stood up, making my mother and I do the same with a nod. “This is it from our end, good day Director Piggot, Mr. Armsmaster, Miss Militia.”

And with that she and my mother got out. I followed, taking slow steps, shooting one last glance back. Armsmaster was frowning, Director Piggot had a calculating look on her face and Miss Militia had tugged her scarf down, giving me a sympathetic look.

“Hurry along, Missy, don’t make your mother wait,” she said.

I nodded, “I’m so sorry,” I was, I didn’t want this, but no one lets me explain!

“We’ll await your return, Miss Biron,” said Piggot, not sounding as if she had been threatened with an extensive lawsuit because of me by my mother, “once these legal issues have been resolved, of course. For now, it’s more prudent for you to stay at home and recover from this ordeal. We’ll contact you, keep your issued phone charged and ready. Just in case. Until then, treat this as a well-deserved vacation.”

“You’ll always have a place here,” added Armsaster, his face blank as he said this, giving me one more curt nod.

“Thank you, goodbye.”

With that, I had left the office, right into my mother who was speaking in low tones with our lawyer.

“Good, Missy, we can go home now. I bet this was exhausting for you, but you were such a good, brave girl. Do you want anything on the way home? McDonalds or ice cream?”

I shook my head, “returning home sounds good.” We started walking.

“Okay, sure sweetie,” she turned to Perdita, “I can’t thank you enough for your help, and so quickly, too.”

“It was my pleasure, Mrs. Biron, and I’ll be honest, this is going to be a profitable case for both of us.”

This was exactly what I didn’t want to hear. They wanted to profit on the cost of the Wards and Protectorate, but then my mother surprised me.

“I need to do better for Missy and I can’t do that as I am now. We need the money.” She glanced quickly at me, and her expression hardened, “and they who put my only daughter in such a dangerous situation for years need to pay but we can discuss that at a later time. Thank you again, Mrs Perdita.”

She smiled at both of us and left.

“Do we…do we have to go through with this?”

“Don’t you worry about it, sweetie, Mommy has it all handled, and your father as well, once he gets here tonight. We’ll be able to give you a lot more than we could until now. A better place to live, more opportunities, more everything.”

She knelt and put both hands on my shoulders, looking me right in my eyes. “I know I haven’t been the best mother for a while now, Missy. But I promise you, this will change. I will change. This…this misshap was the wake-up call that I desperately needed and I will do my best from now on to give you the protection and guidance that you need, and the love of course.” She then pulled me into a fierce hug. “I love you, Missy. You are the person I love most in this world and I’m so, so sorry that I’m such a fuck-up that I couldn’t show it to you every day of your life.” I felt her tears and nearly cried myself.

I looked around, to see if anyone had heard her, frantically looking for any familiar faces. The last thing I wanted was for Clockblocker or Shadow Stalker to her my mother call herself my mommy in public.

“I love you too, mom,” I whispered, “Let’s go home. Please.”

 


End file.
